All that long night she never slept a wink. She lay awake, tossing and
tumbling on the bed, or pacing up and down the floor, in a sort of
delirious fever. And--

"If I thought for certain sure he would let me go after the sham
ceremony was performed, I would marry him," was the conclusion she had
arrived at by morning. "No matter what happens, nothing can be half so
bad as this."

It was morning, though Mollie did not know it, when she threw herself on
the bed, and for the second time fell asleep. And sleeping, she dreamed.
She was standing up before the minister, to be married to the masked
man. The ceremony went on--Miriam was bride-maid and Sir Roger Trajenna
gave her away. The ceremony ended, the bridegroom turned to salute the
bride. "But first I must remove my mask," he said, in a strangely
familiar voice; and lifting it off, Mollie saw smiling down upon her the
most beautiful face ever mortal were, familiar as the voice, yet leaving
her equally unable to place it.

It may seem a little thing, but little things weigh with young ladies in
their seventeenth year, and this dream turned the scale. Mollie thought
about it a great deal that morning as she made her toilet.

"I wonder if he is so very handsome? I like handsome men," mused Mollie.
"He told me he was, and I know he must be, if he ever was a flirter of
mine. Mr. Sardonyx is the plainest man I ever let make love to me, and
even he was not absolutely plain. I shouldn't wonder if my captor were
he, or else Doctor Oleander. Oh, why--why--why can't I recognize that
voice?"